


Little Broken Hearts

by Hijja



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Non Consensual, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hijja/pseuds/Hijja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fires of the past burn brightest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Broken Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hp_darkfest, prompt: "We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it." (Tennessee Williams, _The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore_ ).
> 
> Thanks to LN for beta and help way beyond the call of duty! Title and endquote are borrowed from _Nightwish_ lyrics.

**Rating:** hard R/mild NC-17

 **Warnings:** non-con, a bit of violence  
__________________________________________________________________

Exactly one week and four days after returning to Hogwarts for his fifth school year, Albus Severus Potter went mad.

Scorpius could hear the shouting three corridors away from the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. Even the portrait of the basilisk that guarded the Common Room door looked miffed.

Climbing through the portrait hole, Scorpius was painfully aware that all heads had turned towards him – the entire Slytherin Quidditch team, assorted hangers-on and random Snakes just caught up in the fuss. On reflex, he ran through the exercise his mother had taught him to deal with the hot flushes that haunted him whenever people looked at him with intent.

He nodded nonchalantly at the crowd and put his Transfiguration books and notes down on a side table.

Adam Bulstrode, Captain of the Quidditch team, shot him a withering glare and turned back to the slender figure in the armchair before him. Albus Potter had one leg slung over its armrest, slouching at his most provocative.

Scorpius lifted an eyebrow in his best imitation of his grandfather. "What seems to be the problem?"

Bulstrode threw him a look almost as dirty as he'd given Albus. "This little shite says he wants to quit the team," he growled.

Scorpius's eyes widened. Albus had been the Slytherin Keeper since second year, making up for his lack in size with an agility and speed that made his game look as if he had Summoning Charms sticking to his palms. His skill with the Quaffle had resulted in more than one mid-game penalty against Gryffindor Chaser James Potter, caught cursing his little brother at the top of his lungs in mid-air, unable to get _anything_ into Slytherin's hoops. Albus _loved_ flying.

"You can field Parkinson, give him a chance," Albus threw in off-handedly. The full force of Bulstrode's anger returned to him.

"Parkinson's shite compared to you," the Captain snapped, then bit his lip. "Why the fuck do you want to quit?"

Albus's brow furrowed ever so slightly. "I need to concentrate on my OWLs."

That drew snorts of laughter from the onlookers, and Scorpius felt his lips quirk. If there was one thing Albus Severus Potter did not have to worry about, it was schoolwork. Potions and Care of Magical Creatures aside, he usually sailed through assignments and examinations with a blithe, disinterested ease that had probably turned all Ravenclaws in their year into his mortal enemies. He hadn't taken off time to study since first year, and had, Scorpius was willing to bet his trusted Lightning Bolt, no intention of starting for something as inconsequential as OWLS.

Even Bulstrode looked bemused. "Look, Potter... if you want to go for Seeker this year, we can talk about it."

An outraged huff emerged from the green-robed crowd of players amassing behind Bulstrode. Fionnuala Macdonald, their current Seeker, nearly stared a hole into the Captain's back. The team's Chasers had to grab her arms to stop her from jumping him.

Bulstrode ignored the commotion.

"I don't want to play Seeker, Bulstrode." Albus enunciated slowly, all but rolling his eyes. "I just quit the team."

Bulstrode balled his fists, rising to his considerable height, and Scorpius put his hand on his wand. Albus just leaned back, even more insolently, and Bulstrode banged his fist on the delicate standby table beside his arm. The guttering candle on the table top was nearly swiped off by his flapping sleeve.

"You listen to me, you arrogant bastard: you'll get your scrawny arse onto the pitch for next practice, or I'm going to make you _hurt_!"

Albus' eyes went cold. His face twisted into the subtle sneer that only had its home in Slytherin House. Scorpius was certain that his family – James probably excepted - had never seen it.

"Bulstrode?" Albus asked, almost sweetly.

"What?" the captain bellowed.

"Your robe's on fire."

Indeed, smoke was rising from the sleeve where Bulstrode had taken his swipe at the candle, and tiny flames licked towards his wrist. He let out an unmanly shriek, and flailed until he nearly fell on his arse before managing to fumble out his wand left-handed and down the flames with an Aguamenti Charm so forceful it left his entire right side sopping wet and liberally sprayed the team behind him. They jumped back, cursing.

Laughter tittered around the Common Room and the Captain's face turned dark with embarrassment. Albus didn't even try to disguise his smirk. He got up, nodded at Bulstrode, who looked close to apoplexy, and sauntered towards the door.

Bulstrode glared around until his eyes landed on Scorpius. He reached out as if to grab him by the collar of his robe, then noted Scorpius' hand resting on his wand, and settled for pointing a finger.

"You better set the little shite's head straight if you know what's good for him, Malfoy," he snarled.

Scorpius shook a few drops of water from his hand with an exaggerated grimace, trusting that Bulstrode, no matter how furious, wouldn't dare deck him in the middle of the Common Room. With a stare that could wither primroses, the Slytherin Captain stormed towards the door for the seventh year dorm, followed by most of his team like a squadron of battle dragons. A few angry looks landed on Scorpius, and he sighed inwardly. That's what you got for keeping Potter's company. It wasn't as if father hadn't warned him.

Lingering for a few seconds so he wouldn't look as if he were actually running after Albus, he left through the portrait hole. When he saw that he had the corridor to himself, he started to jog. After two corners, he caught sight of Albus.

"Potter!" he called out, more harshly than intended.

Albus threw a look over his shoulder and slowed until Scorpius could fall into step beside him.

"Well, are you?" he asked.

"Am I what?" Scorpius huffed.

"Going to set my head straight?"

Scorpius let out an undelicate snort. "Don't be daft!"

Albus's stiff back relaxed a little, and he slowed down to a more casual stroll.

"But why?" Scorpius asked. "You love flying."

Scorpius himself had never tried out for the team, although he wasn't a bad flier. Father hadn't been happy, but Scorpius knew that compared with Al's unselfconscious grace on a broom, he was as clumsy as a puppy with over-large paws.

"Sort of." Al shrugged. "But Quidditch bores me and I guess it's time to leave Dad's legacy to James and Lily."

"But your Godfather - won't he be disappointed?" There was little that filled Scorpius with as much dread as disappointing his family. Albus just shrugged again.

"Uncle Ron will get over it. It's not as if I was planning to play Keeper for the Cannons after school or something."

"Bulstrode will give you grief," Scorpius warned. "And the rest of the team."

There was the House Cup to consider. Slytherin wasn't cut out for earning points for good behaviour or general likeability, and not for academic excellence that would outshine Ravenclaw either. Quidditch wins made their reputation, and the House was prone to turn against anyone who looked as if he was sabotaging the team.

"Don't worry. I can handle them." A side glance. "Are _you_ worried that Bulstrode will give you grief?"

A quick, warm surge ran through Scorpius. "Not really." He looked sideways at Al and grinned. "After all, I'm not your keeper."

Dark green eyes met his for an instant, eerily sharp. "No, you're not."

"So-" Scorpius asked, nodding in passing at a portrait of Herpo the Foul shifting a huge, ugly toad to check on the egg beneath to play over the awkward moment. "Is Quidditch off because we're looking for the Room of Requirement?"

He'd spent part of his summer holidays after they'd returned from Switzerland in the Manor's library, trying to decipher grandfather's rare 1532 edition of _Hogwarts, a History_ , not that he was about to tell Albus. It never did to encourage him in his obsession of the day.

Albus shot him another one of those looks that made Scorpius wonder what exactly he'd done wrong, then slowly shook his head.

"We were _children_ last year." He waved dismissively. "And my dad says the Headmistress and the Governors blocked the Room off after the Battle, because it was too dangerous inside and someone could get hurt. Anyway, I'll probably have to spend time in the library over the next weeks. I did none of my schoolwork - things were mad at the Burrow with Bill's and Percy's families over too."

Scorpius nodded slowly, fighting back a rush of disappointment.

"And Prefect duty should keep you busy," Albus added.

Scorpius rolled his eyes and groaned. It wasn't that he'd doubted he'd be made Prefect, being one of the few sane members of Slytherin house, but shepherding around awestruck, clueless first years had become old really quickly. His expression wrung a grin from Al after all. Then Albus cocked his head, and his delicate dark eyebrows drew together.

"Malfoy?"

"Hm?" Scorpius asked.

"I think you left your notes and books in the Common Room."

Scorpius quickly killed the flush that started to rise in his cheeks. So much for trying not to look as if he was running after Albus!

"I did, didn't I?" he said, coolly. "How silly of me."

Al nodded. "I'll see you in the dorm, then?"

"Yes... later."

Slowly, Scorpius turned and walked back towards the Common Room. Only when he couldn't hear the pat-pat of Al's footsteps any longer and had made sure the corridor was empty, did he pause to deliver a sharp kick to the marble plinth that held the bust of Lungold the Ungentle, one-time Hogwarts House Beater. It made his toes sting, nothing more, and Lungold's marble face looked as if it was laughing at him.

 _Something_ was up with Albus Potter, Scorpius thought darkly, and he would find out no matter what it took!

***

"Oi, Potter! Is it true you were kicked out of your Quidditch team?"

Julius Smith leaned over the aisle that divided the Hufflepuff desks from the Slytherin side. He didn't even whisper particularly quietly as Professor Slughorn sat in his armchair at the front of the classroom with his feet propped up on a cushion and his eyes closed, sucking happily on a piece of chocolate-dipped pineapple. He was also quite deaf.

Scorpius sighed and added another small lizard liver to the slimy green pile on his scales, while Smith's Hufflepuff hangers-on tittered. Smith had always hated Albus - well, the entire Potter clan, really - the result, if Scorpius understood correctly, of an old family feud and Julius's firm belief that descending from a Founder should override your father saving the world from the Dark Lord. And of course Albus trouncing the Hufflepuff in a midnight duel in third year after he'd made Lily Potter cry hadn't improved matters either.

Albus put down the recipe parchment and looked over his shoulder, a slow, tense movement.

"I see why this would make you unhappy, Smith," he drawled in that special way that never failed to make Scorpius grin, because Al had so obviously learned it from him just as he had learned it from his father. Al did it better, though. "Now you've got one less excuse for missing the hoops."

Smith, Hufflepuff's star Chaser and another one of those constantly frustrated by Albus's Keeper skills, flushed to a blotchy pink that was doubly noticeable against his fair complexion.

"Ah, won't your daddy be disappointed in you?" Smith snarled, and Scorpius could see Albus' knuckles go white around the heft of his root knife.

"I don't know," Albus shot back. "But I doubt it. He doesn't determine my worth by what I can contribute to the family fame."

More stung than he would have liked to admit although Albus's eyes were firmly on Smith and Smith's father was well-known for expecting the near-impossible, Scorpius wiped powdered asphodel off his hands, ready to go for his wand should Smith blow up.

"Boys... boys!" Slughorn looked up from his chair, less than pleased to be distracted from the piece of pineapple he'd been contemplating. He raised a pudgy hand for emphasis. "Less talk and more attention on your cauldrons please. I'm looking forward to a roaring fire and a whisky toddy tonight rather than to supervising detentions."

Smith grudgingly returned his attention to his cauldron, and Scorpius took the root knife from Albus's stiff fingers to undo the damage he'd done to the St John's Wort. Weird, how dainty operations like chopping ingredients or catching small Snitches were so far beyond the capability of a boy who was as agile as Albus when it came to wandwork or Quaffles. Even when he wasn't seething.

With a last rude gesture, Smith reached for his brush to sweep powdered Graphorn horn into the simmering mixture bubbling in his cauldron.

Preoccupied with ladling equal portions of lizard livers into his own potion, Scorpius only caught a flash in the corner of his eye as some of the iridescent powder was caught up in the flames that licked out from under the Hufflepuff's cauldron.

Smith screamed and jumped back, dropping the wooden ladle that had ignited like a dry twig. He had the presence of mind not to drop it _into_ the cauldron, but hit out wildly at the flames that reached for his bare arms where he'd tied back the sleeves to stir.

Scorpius caught sight of Albus, leaning back in his chair and observing the scene. An amused little smile curved his mouth and glittered in his eyes.

Slughorn jumped up from his armchair and waddled over faster than Scorpius had ever seen him move, waving his wand at the powder-blue flames that bit at Smith's arms.

The magic doused them quickly enough, and Slughorn pulled the Hufflepuff away from the crackling cauldron to cast a Vacuous over the concoction before it could explode. Then he disentangled Smith, who was still shaking and tearful, from the clutch of Hufflepuffs that had descended to fuss over their leader, picking one at random.

"Miss Finch-Fletchley, please take Mr Smith to the hospital wing." He peered at the reddened skin on Smith's arms and tutted at the hovering Hufflepuffs. "It's not serious, but Madam Pomfrey should have a look just in case."

Supported by pigtailed Emma Finch-Fletchley, Smith limped out of the potions classroom, and Scorpius belatedly threw his quartered flobberworm tails into his potion. It came round to the textbook shade of lavender just as Slughorn started to make his way around the room, ladling spoonfuls into the testing bottles.

When the Professor had passed their desk, muttering approval at their potion's colour and consistency, Scorpius turned to whisper in Al's ear. "Did you do it?"

Al's forehead crumpled a little. "How?" he hissed back. "I didn't even have my wand out." He shook his head as they stuffed books and parchments into their bags, then filed out at the tail end of the last group of Hufflepuffs.

"What made you think I did it?" Al inquired, one inky eyebrow raised, as soon as they were safely back into Slytherin territory.

"Well..." Scorpius hedged. He couldn't very well say, 'I didn't like the way you smiled'. "It just was such of a _coincidence_ after Smith was asking for it so badly."

The smile reappeared at the corner of Albus's mouth, more Albus this time. His eyes sparkled. "He did, didn't he?"

Only when Scorpius was back in the Common Room, filling in curious house mates about Smith's misfortune and trying to silence his stomach with the promise of an early lunch did he realise that Al hadn't really given him an answer to his question.

***

He saw little of Albus in the following days. Mentoring first years turned out to be more time-consuming than Scorpius had expected, and Prefect duties in a serpents' coil like Slytherin required constant attention, not to speak of diplomacy and the occasional show of force. They still studied together some evenings, amiably enough, but Scorpius missed the strolls around the grounds at weekends, the whacky study sessions in the library when Albus pursued his obsession of the month, and sneaking around Hogwarts after lights out under Al's infamous Invisibility Cloak.

Like the night they'd gone into the Forbidden Forest in second year because Al wanted to see the unicorn foals splashing in the forest pools under the moonlight. After falling into the brook twice and slipping along the muddy path, it had been _Scorpius_ whose dripping hair the foals nuzzled first before one of them cautiously nudged Albus's shoulder. Scorpius had blushed like a mad thing there in the dark, but Al had laughed, happy for his good fortune, and never cracked any jokes about excessive purity. Yes, they'd been silly children, but Scorpius missed in those times.

He could still hear Albus sneaking out at night, being attuned to the familiar sounds from the neighbouring four-poster as he waited for a rap against his bedpost that didn't come. Not that this, in itself, was unusual. Albus was the only Slytherin in living memory who had the freedom of every Common Room at Hogwarts, visiting siblings and cousins, and even those who were grumbling - particularly in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff - seemed to regard him more like an annoying Gryffindor who had been mis-Sorted than as an enemy. Scorpius didn't begrudge him it. Not really.

It was only when he ran into Rose Weasley in the library, ensconced behind a wall of books at her regular table, that he realised he'd allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of comfort. Some weird impulse made him stop to ask whether Al had been around to see her recently.

She sniffed and shot him an accusatory look before pointing out, in a very snappish tone of voice, that Albus hadn't dropped by the Ravenclaw Common Room since the beginning of term.

"Well, we're not chaining him to the dungeon walls, you know," Scorpius snapped back, sharper than intended. It wasn't so much anger at Rose, more the question of _what_ Albus was up to every night if he wasn't seeing the Potter-Weasley clan.

Rose huffed and waved her hand at him as if he were an obnoxious house-elf - which, honestly, was a bit rich coming from a Weasley. Still, she was Albus's cousin and had quite a temper if pushed, so Scorpius prudently limited his response to a scowl at the back of her head and beat a quick retreat.

Even then, he had no actual plans to spy on Albus - after all, Albus regarded sleep as an amusing irrelevance and might be out snooping around after Hogwarts secrets, or just using the hidden passageway into the Restricted Section to follow some eclectic research impulse. It wouldn't be the first time. If he didn't want Scorpius with him, Scorpius wouldn't try and tag along.

It didn't stop him from holding his breath that night when he heard Al's soft footsteps on the carpet, then the tap-tap of his Muggle trainers moving towards the door. It shut behind him with the softest of clicks. Scorpius rolled onto his back, staring at the canopy of his four-poster in the darkness, fighting the impulse to follow. He'd not been invited, and mere curiosity shouldn't make him try and spy on Al's secrets.

When he slid into his shoes and pulled his robe over his pyjamas a heartbeat later, it was only because those thoughts were unworthy of a Slytherin, even more so a Malfoy. He wanted to know what Al was up to. He would find out tonight. If Al was meeting a girl, or wheedling a plum tart out of the kitchen elves, he could always sneak back into bed with no one the wiser.

Sneaking out the dormitory and through the corridor wasn't any effort, even without lighting his wand so as to not alert Albus to the fact that he was being followed. The dungeon corridors were dark, with only a few torches lighting up stone and the occasional wood panelling on a door.

Scorpius trailed Albus at a safe distance, wondering why he hadn't taken his Invisibility Cloak. It wasn't like Albus to forget that - the thing was pretty much part of him, a gift of mercy from his father after Al's nightly wanderings in first year had cost Slytherin more points than even his performance in class could make up for, and the house had turned on him in anger. Tonight, though, his black robes were almost camouflage enough.

Almost. Scorpius didn't see it happen; he'd stayed back when Albus slipped into the little stone antechamber that barred the way out of the dungeons in order to keep out of the light of the torches there. He heard a flurry of footsteps, a scuffle cut short by the telltale hiss of a spell, and then the dull thud of a body impacting against stone.

Scorpius cursed inwardly and drew his wand, creeping forward on soft soles until he could peer around the corner.

Albus was pinned to the wall with Rupert Bode's arm pressed against his windpipe. The Beater's wand dug into Albus's chest where his robe gaped open to reveal bare skin beneath. The left side of Albus's face was swollen, and a trickle of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth.

Behind Bode stood Adam Bulstrode, holding both his own and Albus's wand with a triumphant expression on his face. A quick look around revealed two more members of the Slytherin Quidditch team - Gabriel Harper, the second Beater, and the lithe, dark-haired figure of Seeker Fionnuala Macdonald, who had obviously made up with Bulstrode to Albus's detriment.

Scorpius could see Al fighting against Bode's grip with bare-toothed rage. He'd never been much prone to physical violence, Albus, but now he kicked at Bode's shins and awkwardly tried to beat him in the head with his fist.

Biting his tongue, Scorpius forced himself to wait. If Albus's struggles focussed all attention on him, hitting them unawares would be more effective considering the odds.

Bode winced at a particularly sharp kick and hissed a spell. His wand tip lit up, and blue light spilled over Albus's chest. For a moment he writhed, letting out a noise like an angry cat. Scorpius recognised the signs of a pain curse, one of the myriad little brothers of the Cruciatus. This one, and stronger ones, Scorpius had learned from Grandfather years ago.

Still, he wasn't quite prepared for the surge of rage that rushed through him. He was through the door in a heartbeat, hitting Bulstrode, who stood between Scorpius and Bode, in the back with an _"Expelliarmus!"_ so strong it not only ripped both wands from his grip, but also knocked him backward several steps.

Bulstrode caught himself against the wall while his cronies snapped around, wands raised.

"Malfoy!" Bulstrode growled. "You should've sided with your house instead of your little boyfriend for once." His face twisted in an ugly way. "No matter - you can watch."

Scorpius gripped his wand tight, adamant not to betray any outward sign of the moths fluttering in his stomach. He ducked a sluggish Petrification Hex and fired another back at Bulstrode, who dived out of the way and for his wand. He came up way too fast, snapping over his shoulder at Bode, "Don't let Potter get away! We'll take down Malfoy."

Scorpius swallowed when he found himself facing three wands, but a sharp cry from the wall made them all turn. Bode was stumbling backwards, clutching his arm where a raw, red burn ran up from wrist to elbow, covered in oozing blisters. Bode stared at it with a horrified whimper. His eyes went, uncomprehending, to the spot several feet away where Albus's wand had been flung by Scorpius's Expelliarmus.

Albus stepped away from the wall, his black hair a tousled mess around a face whose pallor set off lips and eyes as splashes of opposing colour. Any other time, the sight would have plucked a string deep inside Scorpius's stomach, but that subtle, scary smile was back around Albus's mouth and his green eyes flared with rage.

Around his fingers danced what looked like little sparks, although the skin beneath them was as unblemished as ever. So the little bugger had lied to him about the potions incident after all, was Scorpius's first, irritated thought.

Al shook his fingers at the Slytherins circling Scorpius as if trying to rid them of excess water, but bright orange flames leapt away instead. Harper cursed as some of them licked at his robe, dancing up the black fabric as easily as mischievous Pixies. He beat at the smoking wool, then cursed when the flames singed his fingers and dropped his wand in his haste to get the robe off.

Albus sent another handful of fire at Macdonald, who jumped back, her mane of glossy black hair whipping behind her. The flames missed her, but kissed a few of the flying strands and set them alight. Macdonald screamed in fright as she caught sight of it and the acrid smell of burnt hair filled the little chamber. Before Scorpius could douse her with an Aguamenti, Harper recovered his bearings and tackled the flailing Seeker to the ground, throwing her wide hood over her smoking hair to suffocate the flames.

Scorpius waited until her sobbing subsided and Harper let her up. She touched the remains of her locks, singed off at the ends into molten clumps, and let out a shriek of pure rage. Almost lazily, Scorpius hit them both from behind with a Stunning Spell.

It distracted him for a few crucial seconds. Enough for Adam Bulstrode to let fly another pain curse at Albus. It slammed Al back into the wall where he convulsed with a scream that went through Scorpius like a knife.

Bulstrode, in seventh year and one of the stars of the duelling club, blocked Scorpius's Expelliarmus with ease, but gave Albus time to recover. Without quite looking, a move of Albus's hand sent more flames slamming into Bode's chest, who'd been groping to retrieve his wand with his uninjured hand. He collapsed with a groan, and lay still.

When Albus raised his head, his eyes seemed alight as if pale green flames burned in them too. He looked very cold, and very angry.

He clenched his hand into a fist, and the flames around it weren't merry and orange any longer, but a garish white and blue that gave off heat Scorpius could feel several feet away. A ball of crackling fire shot through the air towards Bulstrode like a sentient creature. Bulstrode dived out of the way of the howling flames, saved only by Quidditch reflexes. The fireball impacted on the wall of the chamber in a hissing conflagration that left scorch marks on the stone.

Albus gasped. Bulstrode, caught by the fallout, was thrown to the ground on his back, the right side of his face flushed red from the heat. He was staring up at Albus. The tight, alien smile was back on Albus's face, and Bulstrode's disbelief turned to an expression of pure terror when Albus raised his hand again. This time, there was no chance he could miss.

"Al, no!" Scorpius screamed, throwing himself forward despite the sick lurch of fear in his stomach. He reached Albus and grabbed his arm. "Don't! You'll kill him!"

Albus tore his eyes away from Bulstrode with apparent effort. Scorpius shuddered when they focussed on him. He let go of Al's arm and jumped when Albus's fingers closed around his wrist. A wave of sickening agony shot through Scorpius as Al's fingertips burned into his skin. His mouth opened, but no sound came out except for a shocked exhale. Tears shot into his eyes and it took all of Scorpius's considerable self-control not to fall to his knees writhing in pain.

His eyes unreadable, Albus let go. "They shouldn't have attacked me," he said calmly. Turning his attention back to Bulstrode, he left Scorpius to stare at the five dark burns that dotted his wrist.

His heart hammering inside his chest, Scorpius stepped between Albus and the Team Captain. "We're Slytherins, Al," he said. "We don't turn against our own. Not like that."

It was as if he'd slapped Albus physically. His face crumbled into a grimace of hurt, shock almost, an expression of vulnerability that Scorpius had never, ever seen on him, not even as a small, harassed first year railing against being Sorted into the wrong House.

It lasted only for a moment before the cold mask descended again. Albus took hold of the fingers of Scorpius's injured hand very carefully, lifting it up and studying it as if he contemplated to kiss it better. A shudder ran through Scorpius at the gentle touch.

"Where did you learn that spell anyway?" Scorpius blurted out, somewhat light-headed from pain and adrenaline.

Al cocked his head. "Why? Do you want me to teach you?"

"Not really!" It came out a lot more dismissively than Scorpius had intended.

"No, I didn't think so." Albus shook his head. "You shouldn't spy after me," he whispered, stroking Scorpius's palm with his thumb. "It's dangerous. You could get hurt." He brushed his fingers over Scorpius's. "Do you understand?"

Scorpius understood indeed. In a flash, he recalled Albus in the corridor, telling him about the Room of Requirement in almost the same words. He buried the thought at the bottom of his consciousness and pulled his hand free of Al's hold.

Albus didn't try to stop him. He just called his wand to him in a flawless feat of Summoning and walked away without another glance back the chaos he had wrought.

Scorpius rushed over to Rupert Bode's limp form and felt his pulse, trying not to look at the older boy's burns. He was breathing, and groaned when Scorpius accidentally brushed his side. Relieved beyond measure, Scorpius took a deep breath, then strode over to Bulstrode, who was still on the ground, looking more shaken than Scorpius had ever seen him.

"I saved your life," he pointed out, in a voice that sounded so cool it sent a shiver down Scorpius's back. "You will never go after Albus Severus Potter again."

"You know he's mad, don't you, Malfoy?" There was a rasp in Bulstrode's voice, the aftermath of terror. "Practising Dark Arts like that, attacking his own house mates." The coarse features hardened. "How long until he turns on you, what do you think?"

"He won't," Scorpius ground out, trying to ignore the steady ache of the marks on his wrist.

"Yeah, try to tell yourself that when he burns you to a crisp."

Scorpius drew in a shaky breath. "Just leave us alone, Bulstrode," he repeated and turned away to escape back towards the Slytherin dorms - the opposite direction in which Albus had taken off - leaving Bulstrode to clean up the mess.

Dreading the oppressive dark of his dormitory, Scorpius hid himself in the Slytherin Prefects' lounge. He retrieved the potions kit that the Prefects used to deal with scrapes and hexes that needed looking to, but didn't quite warrant Madam Pomfrey's attention, and helped himself to some ointment. The burns faded to a dull ache that left Scorpius's head clear for the first time after the panicked muddle of the fight.

He knew he should go to Slughorn, or the Headmistress even. Something was _very_ wrong with Albus. But their Head of House was old and exhausted, and McGonagall a Gryffindor with a Gryffindor's prejudices. If only her predecessor Severus Snape had survived the war! Scorpius wouldn't have hesitated to tell _him_ about his young namesake's antics. For a moment, he wished he could owl his father or grandfather and ask their opinion on the spell Albus had used. Dark wandless magic... grandfather would know, but neither Malfoy was fond of Albus and they wouldn't bother looking beyond the fact that injury had been done to Scorpius.

No - he had to do this alone. Scorpius curled up on one of the leather armchairs in the lounge, feeling the cool film of ointment on his wrist and tried, in vain, to go to sleep.

***

The days following the clash in the dungeons were tense. Bode had to be taken to the Hospital Wing for second degree burns on his arm and chest, the investigation of which had revealed the damage Albus's fire had done to the antechamber wall. Scorpius sat through three Prefects' meetings with the Headmistress and Deputy Headmaster Flitwick. They did their best to flush out the culprits, and the six Slytherin Prefects had a very unpleasant time protesting their innocence and ignorance.

Scorpius lied along with the best of them. Slytherin House prided itself on its infamous cover of silence towards the outside world. Bode claimed to have been memory-charmed and to have no recollection of what had happened. From all Scorpius knew of Bulstrode's ruthlessness, he might be telling the truth. Macdonald sported a new hairstyle, a sleek cap of black silk framing her face, claiming it was easier to maintain, especially during matches. And Scorpius himself wore long sleeves to hide the burns on his wrist, grateful for the dull, wet days of the Scottish autumn.

Inside Slytherin, however, rumours buzzed like flies - the Slytherin team had attacked Albus and lost, Albus had used Dark Magic and tried to kill Bode and Bulstrode, Potter and Malfoy had finally fallen out.

The last was true.

Scorpius was in no mood to take the first step, hurt and unnerved by the way Albus kept watching him; Scorpius would look up from his table at the library, or just sitting on his bed in the dormitory, to find Albus's eyes on him from a corner, little side glances that radiated a warning... a challenge, almost.

Part of Scorpius wanted to just wash his hands of Potter, concentrate on his schoolwork and duties and forget what he'd seen in the antechamber. A larger part, however, recalled the boy who'd reached right through Scorpius's prickly defences of Malfoy pride in his first week at Hogwarts. Who'd taken him to see unicorns, and made him study Hittite Cuneiform, Muggle Alchemy and Hairy MacBoons, and who'd sneaked into the Hospital Wing at midnight to bring Scorpius a bagful of Ice Mice after Scorpius had fretted himself into a faint after his parent's first Howler when Jasper Belby dared him to brew Veritaserum by promising he'd drink it, and the subsequent tale of Belby's father's affair with Madam Angeletta Zabini had got out.

Father and grandfather had had minions, like Mr Goyle, the gamekeeper, who lived in a hut on the Malfoy estate and had taught Scorpius to hunt partridges and who was invited to official gatherings because, as father said, Malfoys took care of their people. Albus, on the other hand, had scores of family and friends, so tightly knit that he'd not quite known how to behave around Professors Longbottom or Hagrid at first because he'd known them all his life. Scorpius had no interest in minions or circles of friends - he'd only ever wanted mad, brilliant Albus.

Now, he took to spending time with Christabel Flint, his fellow Prefect, and Aneurin Whiddershins, heir to an ancient Welsh family, neither of who had any time for Quidditch or Bulstrode's little gang. It shouldn't have hurt, therefore, to see that the incident, which had earned Albus the ire of their House in some ways, had bolstered his status in others. In the Common Room, he was at times seen in the company of the Mulciber brothers, whom he suffered in a bemused, detached manner where before he'd always kept a distance from the children of Death Eaters, and they from him. All except Scorpius. It _did_ hurt, but it also was a relief of sorts - the Mulcibers were the dirtiest fighters at Hogwarts, and, if nothing else, Albus's back would be well-protected.

Most of the time, Scorpius haunted the library, trying to get his hands on every book discussing fire magic to find out what lay behind Albus's strange new skill at casting wandless fire. It was an endeavour fraught with pitfalls, however. Albus's warning still echoing in his ears, Scorpius knew he had to do his research in secret, which wasn't easy. Albus knew the library like the back of his hand, knew the secret passageway from the Slytherin dungeons, and had an Invisibility Cloak to boot. Moreover, Scorpius could hardly take out books openly as Madam Pince's young assistant was enamoured with Albus and would be only too keen to answer a casual question about what Scorpius had borrowed.

True enough, he found himself the focus of Albus's hooded gaze more than once while browsing the Elemental Magic shelves. His heart hammered as he picked up _Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean_ to carry back to his table, feeling Albus's mocking stare between his shoulder blades all the while.

He managed to steal an hour in the library by skipping Divination when Albus was at Muggle Studies, the only classes they didn't share. Six volumes of _Elemental Magics_ , _Fanning the Flames: Fire Spells for Fiery Sorcerers_ , or _From Egg to Inferno_ , picked up with growing despair, provided no useful hints. There certainly were fire spells aplenty, from Bluebell Flames to Conflagratio, which looked like it could match the fireball Albus had sent after Bulstrode. But none of them could be cast wandless, even less nonverbal.

There were more books, darker ones, in the Restricted Section, and Scorpius knew he could get to them through the secret passageway, but first things first. There was a second strand to his research, almost as tricky as the fire magic, which concerned the Room of Requirement. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that whatever had happened to Albus, it must have happened there. Albus had all but implied it himself, and the tale he'd spun about having lost interest in finding it? In five years, Albus had _never_ lost interest in one of his obsessions until it was thoroughly demystified, catalogued and picked to shreds from every angle imaginable. No, Al had been lying, and with far less than his usual skill.

Before it had turned into Albus's pet project at the end of fourth year, Scorpius hadn't given the Room a second thought. Like everybody, he knew that Dumbledore's Army had hidden there during the War, and that during the Battle of Hogwarts, Potter, Weasley and Granger had fought Scorpius's father and his friends there and one of them hadn't made it out alive.

From Albus, Scorpius knew that Harry Potter, like Scorpius's own father, was rather close-mouthed when it came to war stories. His godfather Ronald Weasley, however, was anything but. Scorpius wasn't about to try and draw those stories out of Rose Weasley, who was much too perceptive and suspicious. Ron Weasley's son, however...

Scorpius prepared his trap quite carefully. The previous year, with Prefectship in mind, he'd volunteered to tutor a handful of struggling second and third years in Potions and Transfiguration. Now, he called in that debt from two burly, raucous third years with very specific instructions.

He watched matters unfold on a rainy late September noon in the Great Hall, finishing his plate of bangers and mash. Covertly, he observed the two Slytherins sauntering past the Gryffindor table just as Hugo Weasley got up to leave. One of them leaned forward to whisper something, and Weasley's head snapped up. He hissed something in reply that was definitely not complimentary and stormed off. The two Slytherins chuckled, unperturbed by the angry mutterings from the remaining Gryffindors, then slowly followed Weasley outside.

Scorpius smirked and dabbed his mouth with his napkin, then looked up to see Albus slide onto the bench opposite him. He snatched a jam-filled cupcake from the dessert tray and took a murderous bite out of it.

Scorpius raised an eyebrow. Albus was ridiculously picky when it came to sweets. He shunned Chocolate Frogs, but devoured Ice Mice by the bag, wouldn't touch a Fizzing Whizzbee for galleons, but managed to ferret out every last Cauldron Cake in the Slytherin dormitories. In five years, Scorpius hadn't seen him in the presence of a cupcake he hadn't sneered at.

Albus returned his raised eyebrow and Scorpius looked away, blushing and telling himself that there was no way Albus could guess what he was up to as the sound of hexes being exchanged floated in from the corridor outside the Great Hall.

***

That evening, Scorpius made his way up to the Gryffindor tower, coolly knocking at the portrait hole under the disapproving glare of the guardian portrait, a rather fat woman in what looked like a pink nightgown.

After a moment, the portrait hole swung open and a girl peered out. Her expression darkened at the sight of Scorpius's Slytherin House insignia.

 

 

"What do _you_ want here?" she asked.

"I'd like to have a word with Hugo Weasley," Scorpius said calmly.

"What for?" she growled. "Haven't you lot done enough today already?"

"I'm here as a Prefect to discuss his unprovoked assault on my housemates," Scorpius replied, blithely ignoring her choked protest at the term 'unprovoked'. "I'd hate having to go to your Head of House with this, so if you could get him..."

The door slammed shut in front of his nose, but Scorpius waited, knowing his Gryffindors. Indeed, it didn't take two minutes before the door opened again, this time to reveal the saturnine face of Hugo Weasley under a frizzy mane of reddish hair a shade darker than the unfortunate Weasley ginger, thanks to his mother.

"What?" Weasley snapped.

"You cursed two of my housemates with boils today," Scorpius pointed out. "I think we should... talk about that." He nodded at the tower staircase.

The frown that crinkled Weasley's forehead looked so much like Albus's that Scorpius's heart ached. "Are you... calling me out, or something?"

Scorpius lifted an eyebrow, trying hard not to grin. Of all of Albus's cousins, he liked Hugo best, but it didn't lessen the fun of playing with the explosive young Gryffindor.

"I'm offering you a way of settling this without complaining to McGonagall," he said. "So what if I wanted to call you out?"

The boy's shoulders straightened. "It's all right," he called over his shoulder and stepped outside, letting the portrait swing shut over the hole. He followed Scorpius down the stairs without another word, and only hesitated for an instant when Scorpius led him into one of the small studies reserved for the seventh-years studying for their NEWTS.

"They called my mother a Mudblood slut who slept with the Minister to get the new Werewolf Adoption Law approved." Weasley hissed when the door shut behind them.

Scorpius rolled his eyes inwardly. Predictable, but a touch more creative than he'd expected from his former pupils. Madam Granger-Weasley was rumoured to be a strong candidate to succeed Shacklebolt as the first Muggleborn Minister for Magic at some point in the future. Scorpius doubted that she would have to use sex to get there. "They deserved to be hexed," Weasley emphasised. "Or are you saying you wouldn't have done the same?"

"Oh, I would have," Scorpius admitted cheerfully. "I'd just have picked a better place than the middle of a public corridor."

Weasley ran a hand through his hair in confusion. "So you're not here to, well... hex me back?"

"No. I'm going to ask you what happened in the Room of Requirement when your parents and Potter fought there in the Battle of Hogwarts."

The younger boy ogled him in confusion. "What? Why? You would let me off the hook for hexing those bloody bastards, just like that?"

Scorpius nodded. "Just like that."

Weasley's eyes narrowed, then went wide. "Wait a minute - why aren't you asking Al?"

"I'm asking you." Scorpius voice was tight.

"I know you've fallen out - it's over the entire school." Weasley pointed out, eyes blazing. "Because if this is some snake pit scheme to get back at my cousin-"

Scorpius snorted in disgust. "Oh, so you think that just because rumours say we fought I'll turn on my best friend of five years because that's what Slytherins do? Thanks so much for the vote of confidence, Weasley!"

He hadn't socialised with Albus's siblings and cousins very much because he felt awkward in their company, but they _had_ spent time together on occasion and he'd have thought that they would extend at least some of the courtesy to him that they granted Albus. Enough to not judge him by his green-and-silver tie and Slytherin badge alone.

Weasley had the grace to blush. "Well no, but... I just want to make sure we understand one another."

"So," Scorpius shot back, "are you going to tell me or not?"

Deflating, Weasley settled his hip on the armrest of a chintz chair.

"Well, I only know what Dad and Mum told me - that they hid one of Voldemort's Horcruxes in the Room of Requirement, and when they went back to get it, Mal- your Dad and his two goons Crabbe and Goyle jumped them. Crabbe cast some sort of mad fire spell - Fiendfyre, I think – and lost control over it. It killed him, and Uncle Harry and my parents only just managed to get your Dad and Goyle out on brooms."

He brushed Scorpius with a shy side glance. "Mum said that your Dad... he tried to stop them from killing Harry. That he wasn't really on Voldemort's side any more, just wanting to protect his family."

It was kindly meant, but barely penetrated Scorpius's mind. "Fiendfyre," he repeated, almost able to hear the clunk with which things started to fall into place.

"That's what Mum said it was called - it destroyed everything in the Room of Requirement, even the Horcrux."

Scorpius nodded slowly, then gasped when Weasley suddenly jumped up from his chair and grabbed his arm hard enough to bruise.

"Malfoy - is this to do with whoever tried to burn down the Slytherin dungeons a while back?"

Scorpius cursed inwardly. Damn Weasley for being way too perceptive for, well... a Weasley.

"I'm not sure," he hedged. "That's what I want to find out."

"You think it has to do with Al - why he's so weird, and never coming round any more? You think he's in trouble?"

"I don't know," Scorpius lied. "He might be." Seeing the worried look that settled over the boy's face, he added, "But maybe not."

"D'you want me to talk to him about it?" Weasley asked. Scorpius felt a prickle of apprehension run down his spine at the thought.

"No!" he exclaimed, visibly startling the boy. "I think you shouldn't talk to him at all. It's a Slytherin matter," he added.

Weasley cocked his head. "You _will_ go to your Head of House if it's getting over your head, won't you?"

"Of course," Scorpius lied again with a grave nod.

"Good," said Weasley and made to get up. Scorpius stopped him with a motion of his hand.

"The Room of Requirement... have you heard anything about it being blocked off after the war?"

"Blocked off?" Weasley frowned. "No. Why?"

"Oh, rumours," Scorpius murmured with narrowed eyes. "Just rumours."

Weasley paused, one hand on the door handle. "Be careful, Malfoy."

With that, he left, and for a moment, Scorpius just fell into a chair and put his head in his hands. He sincerely wished could just use his Malfoy Portkey to go to the manor's library, where grandfather's collection was bound to wash up something. But not even a Malfoy could sneak into Malfoy Manor unnoticed, and while lying to a Weasley was fair game, lying to his family wasn't.

No, it had to be the Restricted Section.

***

The 129 volume _Dictionary of Magic_ that a long-forgotten Lestrange had gifted to the Slytherin Common Room proved of use once more in locating Fiendfyre. Between 'Fieldwinder' and 'Figunula', Volume 36 turned up pointers to _The Black Book of Spells_ and _Advanced Conjuring: a Sorcerer's Study_. The first, at least, Scorpius was certain would be in the Restricted Section because if nobody else, Headmaster Phineas Nigellus would have donated it to the school as a matter of family pride.

On the evening following Scorpius's chat with Hugo Weasley, he set out for the night's Prefect meeting, then sent an owl to Christabel Flint to make his excuses for feeling sick. This, he hoped, would throw Albus off his trail if he was indeed still watching.

Making certain he was neither observed nor followed, he made his way down to the old Potions classroom, in a badly-lit corridor that branched off behind their usual one. It smelled of old smoke and dissected Horklumps. A tattered, sooty tapestry was hanging behind a plinth that had once borne the bust of "Centaur Potioneer, at Repose", but was now bare except for the placard, and worn smooth from numerous small hands brushing it in passing.

You had to squeeze behind the plinth and pluck out the nails that fastened the tapestry to the wall to be able to access the small stone door behind. The doorknob bared green-tipped fangs at Scorpius, and he hastened to whisper "Open, in Slytherin's name!". Huffing in a disappointed kind of way, the knob turned and the door opened into a very narrow upwards staircase, hewn right into the stone wall.

Scorpius squeezed inside and pulled the door shut behind him. Climbing up was gruelling and much less fun than doing it in Albus's company, especially when the staircase twisted and turned with him inside, and his stomach contents twisted in response.

After what felt like an hour, he found the upper end and ended his Lumos before pushing the oval stone door open as noiselessly as possible and peering out. The Restricted Section was dark, and even the glass-encased reading lamps - the only sources of light permitted - had been doused.

Rather short of breath, he climbed out and stepped into the looming shadows of the shelves, leaving the door wide open behind him. A distinctive scent of parchment, ancient wood and dormant magic clung to this section of the library. The shelves rose around him like sleeping monsters, and he fought back an attack of nerves. He'd never been here on his own before.

Knowing better than to touch one of the books, he tiptoed over to the huge cast-iron parchment index. The drawer prickled under his fingers as he pulled it out, but didn't scream at him.

As he'd expected, _The Black Book of Spells_ was listed in the Dark Arts section. Scorpius pushed the drawer shut and walked over in the light of a Lumos dulled in order not to be seen from the outside.

The Dark Arts shelves with all their dust and heavy oak panelling crackled with a sense of invisible, destructive power. The _Black Book_ , hide-bound cover as dark as its name, stood on the second-to-top shelf, and Scorpius touched its back with a nervous finger. He could almost hear the breath it was drawing to let out a Banshee screech should he try and pull it out. He prepared to hit the book with the strongest stunning spell he knew, and took a deep breath.

A vague, acrid smell hit his nostrils. Scorpius froze and slid behind the shelf, pulling his hood over his too-bright hair. He sniffed the air again, and his blood chilled. Smoke.

Peering around the shelf, he tried to determine where the smell came from. Perhaps one of the lanterns was still on, or...

A thin coil of smoke was curling around the other side of the Dark Arts shelf, followed by another, and then thin pinpricks of light flickered up behind the shelf.

The smell of smoke, of flames gnawing, against all odds, at ancient shelving practically dripping with anti-burn charms grew stronger, overpowering. Scorpius pressed his hand against his mouth to stop himself from coughing. The back wall of the shelf exploded in a blossom of fire, and Scorpius reacted almost without conscious thought: he grabbed the _Black Book of Spells_ and ripped it from the glowing shelf, its howl drowned out by the ear-splitting screams that poured forth from bodiless mouths forming on the burning shelves - the alarms of the library, not heard for almost a century.

Clutching the book to his chest and half unconscious from the noise and heat, Scorpius stumbled towards the door to the secret staircase, praying it was still open. There was no way of opening the exit from inside the library, nothing but bare wall. The Restricted Section itself was closed off and barred at night. If _someone_ had shut the door on him, he'd suffocate or burn without any means of escape.

Feeling his way blindly and retching, he found the wall and the gap still open with the most profound surge of relief he'd ever felt. He stumbled through the door with just enough presence of mind to pull it shut against the towering inferno that had set the shelf ablaze. He tumbled more than climbed down the staircase, narrowly avoiding breaking his neck, and fled out at the bottom end with the screams of the shelves still ringing in his ears. Then he realised that it wasn't _him_. The alarm was still audible even in the dungeons, if more as a faint whisper. After having the flames sear his vision, the dungeons were pitch black as he tore through them towards the dormitories, stumbling through the fifth-years' door just a moment before the first bare footsteps and confused voices sounded from the dorms closer to the Common Room.

The dormitory was dark and quiet, Albus's curtains next to his pulled and laced carefully shut. Where Scorpius had left his own as safely secured, however, they now gaped open to reveal empty cushions and bedding inside.

 _Someone_ had come looking for him, and found him gone.

Freezing cold all of a sudden, he tore off his smoke-sodden cloak and vanished it before crawling into bed and spelling the curtains shut against the outside with the strongest spell he knew. Only this once, he didn't want to know who was passing by outside.

As the night fire destroyed the Dark Arts shelves of the Restricted Section, Scorpius Malfoy lay curled around a pillow in the shelter of his canopied four-poster, hugging the _Black Book of Spells_ to his stomach, and trembled.

***

It was easy to slip away quietly in the chaos that followed the Restricted Section fire. Classes were cancelled, freeing the professors to investigate the origins of the blaze, and to restore the delicate charms that protected the ancient volumes from time, damp, and each other.

Rumours flew all around the school like gadflies, and everywhere clumps of students gathered to discuss the incident in hushed voices. Braver souls migrated from group to group, picking up theories and passing them on. They ranged all the way from students sneaking in after hours with candles, to a fire monster stalking the school, a Death Eater sabotage device left over from the war, to the crumbling of Hogwarts' ancient magic, heralding the end of the school.

Scorpius capitalised on his tale about feeling sick, hiding in his bed for most of the morning, almost physically sickened at the thought that the fire might have been his fault for sneaking into the Restricted Section in the first place. The presence of the _Black Book_ under his pillow burned almost as much as the fire. The conflagration had destroyed two shelves full of invaluable books before the alarm had rallied the teachers to the library, and had then faded out almost irrationally fast. But then, Scorpius mused, nothing about the magic _was_ natural. No one, however, would miss this particular title, assumed to be destroyed alongside all the others.

He had no idea how Albus had managed to do it, but the signs were just too obvious. And for once, Albus looked drained during lunch, as if exploding one of the most carefully protected treasuries of Hogwarts had taken a toll even out of the thing that rode him. It hardened Scorpius's resolve. He didn't give the pallid shadow of his former friend a second glance across the table for fear of Albus meeting his eyes and somehow reading the truth, or acknowledging that he'd searched for Albus that night, and found him elsewhere.

He stuffed the book at the back of his school bag and hid in the Slytherin Prefects' study, a small and somewhat stuffy room with dark green tapestries and way too much snake decoration. He had it all to himself.

Once removed from the Restricted Section, the _Black Book_ had quietened, although Scorpius still shuddered at handling it. It wasn't made from parchment but from paper-thin leather whose origins he didn't even want to begin speculating on, and hand-written in dragon-blood ink that gave off a sharp, musky smell. Having studied the 16th century edition of _Hogwarts, a History_ during the holidays actually proved beneficial for deciphering the old-fashioned slant of wording and writing.

He found Fiendfyre towards the end of the tome, in a section about conjuring magic, which was strange in its own right. Conjuring was sneered upon by purebloods as a Muggle thing – Muggles trying to bargain for power from outside as they lacked innate magic. Most of the spells in the section seemed ancient, though, belonging to a time when wizards and Muggles hadn't yet existed in separate spheres. It involved summoning a spirit of fire, a spell deceptively easy to cast. All it took was a short incantation, an open flame to host the spirit - and the mental fortitude to control an elemental force capable of melting stone, and a malevolent presence that _wanted_ to. Scorpius's stomach lurched.

Its counter-spell was just as simple - another short incantation, a sprinkle of spring water steeped in star moss. Easy enough for even the most inexperienced of potions makers, but not quite something one carried around by chance. Obviously, poor, stupid Vincent Crabbe hadn't, some twenty-odd years ago when he'd cast the spell.

Supervising the first years' potions homework while they managed to mangle their Shrinking Solutions, it was almost child's play to set up the concoction. Star moss wasn't a common ingredient, but Slughorn kept a quantity of it, and since Scorpius was one of the select group of Slytherins who kept their Head of House's potions cabinets in order and stocked for extra credit, all it would take to cover his traces was an owl-order to Mortar & Pestle to replenish it at his own expense. The draught was ready after a day and Scorpius liberated one of the old-fashioned ball-pump spray flasks Professor Longbottom used in the greenhouses to store his brew.

Friday, October 1 dawned far too brightly for Scorpius's mood. He had what he needed to confront and banish the Fiendfyre; there was no sense in tarrying, and yet dread hung over him like a cloud. For a moment, he wondered how it would feel to be a Gryffindor - whether they didn't experience that sort of fear, or just managed to deal with it better. His thoughts wandered to Hugo Weasley, but he suppressed the impulse. He didn't know the Gryffindor well enough; if he knew what Scorpius was going up against, he'd most likely tell a teacher. Or he might not and get hurt, and he'd been too surprisingly decent to deserve that.

Scorpius knew how to find the Room of Requirement, of course – everybody did. Want it enough, _need_ it enough, and it would materialise, at some random location throughout the castle.

After nightfall and dinner in the Great Hall, Scorpius roamed corridors and staircases, which kept cheerfully shifting around him until his head whirled. He touched walls that remained as cold and closed under his fingers as they did under everybody else's while repeating 'I want to find the Room of Requirement' in his mind without so much as stirring a tassel on a tapestry. He switched to 'I need to find the Fiendfyre spirit' without any better success - portraits looked at him askance as he passed and whispered behind his back. Somehow, he suspected that deep down, he didn't truly _want_ to find the fire spirit after all.

His feet started to ache from pacing flagstone after flagstone and stair after stair. At last, he leaned his forehead against the bare stone wall of the side corridor that connected the staircases between Astronomy and Divination towers. Tears of frustration pricked his eyes.

"I need to help Albus!" he pleaded against the stone wall, almost sobbing for a moment until he caught himself and angrily wiped his face. It was getting late, and even as a Prefect he'd be in trouble if Filch or Norris&Norris, his tomcats, found him here out of hours.

Pushing himself away from the wall, he made for the staircase down, glaring at the plain classroom door he passed. And froze.

There was no classroom here - it was just a thoroughfare, and one he'd passed through dozens of times.

His fingertips brushed the solid wood, and suddenly fear washed away frustration, coiling around his throat like a choker. He wanted to run and tell the entire mess to the Headmistress, so somebody else, perhaps Albus's glorified Auror father, could go in there and face the fire. But even if nobody murdered Albus over the library fire, they'd both be expelled: Al for courting trouble in the first place, for attacking Bode and for the fire, and Scorpius for keeping it all secret for too long.

Scorpius's own father, ever preaching prudence and self-preservation, would rip his head off if he knew what he was doing; grandfather... well that was different. Scorpius gripped the door handle with trembling fingers and pulled; no Malfoy had ever been expelled from Hogwarts - he wouldn't be the first!

Resolution carried him across the doorstep, wand in one hand, spray flask in the other. Beyond the door, the Room of Requirement was a wasteland. Blackened ruins of shelves loomed towards the ceiling, half molten in places, nearly untouched in others. Some still held clumps of leather that had once been books, their parchment pages burned to ash. Some of the flagstones had cracked, and all were black with soot. Shards and debris were scattered everywhere, as if an explosion had torn apart a cluttered house and had callously strewn about what it hadn't consumed entirely. There was no way of telling whether the destruction had been wreaked by the Fiendfyre during the Battle of Hogwarts, or whether the Room was intact, creating itself according to Scorpius's expectations. The air was stale and cold and smelled of long-dead fire.

Scorpius jumped when the door fell shut behind him. There was no sign of the Fiendfyre. He cast a Lumos to shed some light on the dark cavern before him, dim enough not to obscure any other source of light, and set out.

His heart thumped every time he rounded another shelf while glass and wood crunched under the soles of his shoes. The room felt wholly devoid of life, and yet it exuded a sense of menace - as if something held its breath, preparing to strike. Scorpius pricked his ears, once or twice thinking he heard a sound in the distance, but then it might just have been an echo of his own footsteps.

He bit his lip; he had memorised both incantations, the banishment and the summoning of Fiendfyre, and if the... thing didn't show up, repeating the summoning - without lighting a flame to complete the ritual, obviously - would in all likelihood force it out of hiding.

Splaying his legs for balance, he cited the first line of summoning. His voice sounded small and scared in the huge hall, and when a thin, cold spear of light appeared behind the nearest shelf, his heart practically stopped. He broke off, the power of the spell coating his lips like a bitter potion. He raised the flask higher, every scrap of attention focussed on the pale light that spilled out from underneath the shelf in front of him.

When the blow hit his neck from behind, it caught him utterly unawares. The impact pitched him forward. Sparks flitted before his eyes and a sharp, sickening bolt of pain raced up into his skull. He hit the floor hard, slicing his palm on an oval shard of crystal.

Scorpius rolled around and raised his head. Before him stood Albus Potter, a slim, dark silhouette brightly outlined by the glow that crept around the shelves. Before Scorpius could scramble back, a kick sent his wand, which he'd miraculously not dropped going down, flying into the rubble.

Albus bent forward to pull the spray bottle from his fingers as well, but Scorpius clung to it even though the movement sent shockwaves of pain up his neck. A thin smile curled at the corner of Albus's mouth just before he punched Scorpius in the face, sending him flat on his back and swiping the flask from his hand.

Scorpius felt blood well up inside his mouth. He struggled for breath, utterly winded, then surged to a half-sitting position, hand outstretched, when he saw Albus unscrewing the nozzle.

"Don't!" he gurgled.

Albus lifted an eyebrow.

"We can stop this, right here!" Scorpius pressed on, then let out a despairing cry when Albus upended the flask and poured its contents onto the ground. The fortified water washed away a little soot before seeping away into the crack where the flagstone had split in half.

He didn't get a chance to struggle to his feet; Albus's foot came down on the centre of his chest, pushing the air from his lungs with calm, measured pressure. Albus's lips moved, and out of nowhere, a tangle of roots shot up from the flagstones, wrapping themselves around Scorpius's wrists and dragging them down to the floor above his head. He pulled at them furiously to free himself, but the roots only tightened to the point of pain until he gave up.

Above him, Albus held out his hand and the light that had distracted Scorpius rushed towards him until a cloud of sparks clustered around his fingers like well-heeled pets. Then they sunk _into_ his skin, leaving nothing but a faint glow behind.

Scorpius's stomach turned to a pit of ice. The acrid tang of blood in his mouth made him sick. Albus looked at him like a wolf who'd caught a little newborn rabbit and was wondering if the mouthful of fur and bones and steaming flesh would be worth the effort. He withdrew his foot and crouched down, swinging a leg over to sit comfortably on Scorpius's lower middle.

He smiled down at Scorpius, his eyes bright and glittering. "I'd say 'poor Scorpius', if I hadn't warned you to leave me alone. More than once."

The firm weight of Albus's body pressed against his own made Scorpius want to squirm. It wasn't just the weight on his stomach, even though that made it hard to breathe. But he'd tried not to touch Albus for the longest time, not even by accident, and now the enforced proximity made his pulse speed up.

"I wonder what it will take to stop you from coming after me," Albus mused, tapping his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I could kill you, of course... just burn you to ashes, and nobody would ever know." Scorpius's mouth went dry. Deep down, he still didn't believe Albus would truly murder him, but... he wasn't just Albus, now. "No," Albus continued as if he was reading Scorpius's thoughts. "There are better ways. I've seen the way you were looking at me, you know?"

Scorpius bit his lip, and felt fresh blood well up. "I don't!"

"Don't lie to me," Albus whispered. "You've always watched me. Only differently, during the last year." He shook his head. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice how badly you want me?"

"I don't-" Scorpius started to protest, then yelped when Albus's index finger started to glow.

"Don't lie!" Albus repeated, and drew it in a straight line down the front of Scorpius's robe. It cut the fabric right in half, leaving a red welt on his chest beneath that burned like hell.

"You see, I didn't think I was interested in you that way, so I did nothing at all," Albus continued while pulling the ruined robe off Scorpius's upper body. He probed the burn on Scorpius's chest with a curious finger, smiling at the hiss that escaped his prisoner. "I think I've changed my mind."

He scooted backwards, smirking at Scorpius's horrified look, pulling the torn robe away altogether. Underneath, Scorpius only wore the thin, loose lace-up trousers which - even in Slytherin - negotiated between the wizarding tradition of bare-arsedness and modern Muggleborn modesty.

Now, Albus's fingers kneaded his thigh way too close to his privates, and the flimsy cloth did nothing to disguise Scorpius's teenage arousal.

"No," he gasped, trying to buck Albus off his calves without success. "Not like this!"

A smile formed on Albus's face that was all teeth and pale green venom, so alien it drove the air out of Scorpius's lungs. Possessive hands slid over his hips. Albus leaned in, and for a moment Scorpius panicked at the thought that he might try to kiss him.

"There's the Fiendfyre," Albus murmured, his breath a wet puff against the side of Scorpius's neck. "It wants to embrace you badly, you know? Wants to make your flesh sizzle and your blood boil and crack your bones to burn the marrow." He trailed his finger over Scorpius's bare chest, scraping along a nipple and Scorpius's face flooded with heat.

"We won't let it, if you're good." He stroked Scorpius's cheek with the bony knuckles of his fist, very gently. "Are you going to be good?"

Fresh panic exploded inside Scorpius at the implications. He was securely trapped, and the last time Albus had looked like this, Adam Bulstrode had nearly died. He nodded silently.

Albus's edgy smile seemed to acquire an almost contemptible twist as his fingers undid the laces of Scorpius's trousers and traced the outline of his prick beneath.

"That's what you want, isn't it?"

Squeezing his eyes shut against tears and horror, Scorpius forced himself to nod again. He didn't resist when Albus let go of his legs and rolled him onto his stomach. For an instant, the vines that bound his wrists relaxed enough to accommodate the new position without breaking bones, then tightened again. Scorpius's entire body clenched when the trousers were pulled off him, a silky slide followed by warm air over flesh that crawled at the mere thought of being thus bared.

Albus's weight settled on his back, and his palms slid over Scorpius's naked shoulder blades, far warmer than they should have been.

"So pretty." It was Albus's familiar voice, but rougher, lewd, lowered into a near-growl that made the fine hairs at Scorpius's nape rise. Albus pulled Scorpius's hips against his own, revealing naked skin and a hardness that seemed to be made to fit the groove between Scorpius's buttocks. Scorpius let out a quiet sob, half shame, half despair. He'd pictured being touched, held, _taken_ by Albus Severus in sweaty night-time musings while touching himself, longing. He'd never imagined it might turn into such an abomination.

His arms were stretched taut, the vines cutting into the thin skin of his wrist as Albus gripped his hips more tightly, insinuating himself between Scorpius's thighs. Pressure built between his legs, seeking entrance, and Scorpius's muscles contracted against it, pushing back, which made the burn of intrusion so much more acute. He threw his head back, shaking with pain as Albus pushed into him. There was no time to accommodate, no consideration, just a raw burn that seemed to set every one of Scorpius's nerve ends down there aflame as if the deadly sparks were congregating in Albus's cock rather than his hands.

"So pretty and weak and useless!" Albus groaned, sheathing himself with small jerky movements. Against his will, Scorpius whimpered.

He almost screamed when Albus's hand wrapped around the shrivelled tangle of his genitals from behind, an unskilled grope for his prick followed by a squeeze that wrung another whimper from Scorpius's bloody lips. Against all odds, he felt himself growing tight and hard. Albus felt it too because he let out a contemptuous snort and dropped Scorpius's prick, wiping his fingers on Scorpius's thigh before drawing back for another thrust that pitched Scorpius's entire body forward into a cry of agony.

"Spineless, worthless failure," the hateful voice took up its singsong of abuse again, in rhythm with his thrusts and almost as painful in its own way as the physical violation. "Always crying for your father, hiding behind your name, letting others make your sacrifices..."

Scorpius sucked in a wet rattle of breath, his fingers clawing at the ground. It was one thing to find out that he was held in such utter contempt by his best friend of five years, but the words rang... false. Scorpius had been aware from his earliest childhood that the Malfoy name had been tainted through association with the Dark Lord, and didn't command the respect it once had. Very purposefully, Scorpius had never tried to use it as leverage. And while he _was_ cautious and didn't pick fights deliberately, only a to-the-bone Gryffindor would ever call him a coward.

Rage smouldered into his belly, fuelled by the pure agony in his arse. Albus's nails raked over his back even as he thrust forward. With a strangled hiss Scorpius bucked against him, slamming his head back until it banged hard into Albus's. It sent a jolt of pain through Scorpius's own skull, and if the Fiendfyre creature burned him, it couldn't hurt much worse than being raped on the floor like an animal!

Albus let out a muffled cry and jerked back, nearly tearing Scorpius as he fought for balance. Then his hand grabbed the back of Scorpius's neck and slammed his head into the floor. Thankfully, Scorpius had his face twisted to the side. It protected his nose and teeth, although his left canine jarred and cut into his lip, and his temple impacted on something hard and jagged. Albus pulled Scorpius's head up and slammed it down once more, harder. Blinding pain exploded in Scorpius's temple, and he felt his own blood dripping from the cut onto the floor. He went limp, barely feeling the brutal surge of Albus's cock deep inside him. It was a mercy of sorts.

From very far away, he heard Albus grunt his way to completion, plunging into him over and over again, punctuated by a stream of nonsensical insults. Scorpius let the thrusts shake him like a rag doll, barely able to make sense of, "Should've embraced the Mark, not tried to weasel out of your duty." The body above him gave one more, final thrust before freezing in a rictus of release.

Scorpius barely felt the hot fluid that spilled into him. He lay, face pressed against the floor, while ice spread through his mind, burning away pain, fear and helplessness in a moment of blazing clarity.

Scorpius Malfoy had never taken the Dark Mark. His father had. Draco Malfoy, whose haphazard pursuit of Harry Potter had made it into Weasley family lore. Who had fought, in this very place, alongside two of his fellow Death Eaters, one of whom had cast the Fiendfyre. Who had died here, consumed by his own spell. Still burning... still angry.

Scorpius lay deathly still even as the other pulled out of him, tearing raw skin open anew. Blood caked the side of his face that was visible, and for once he was grateful it would also hide his comprehension.

"Shouldn't have failed us, Malfoy." The parting words drifted down over his soiled body. "Then _this_ -" A contemptuous kick to his naked arse, "- wouldn't have happened to you."

Scorpius trembled, his mouth full of blood and soot from the floor. He didn't move. He could hear footsteps, the sounds of clothes being rearranged, and then the warm weight of Scorpius's robe settled over him, its hood kindly enveloping his bruised face.

 

Albus's voice, a touch softer. "Final warning, Malfoy."

Scorpius squeezed his eyes shut as light exploded all around him, not much caring whether it would envelop and devour him right where he lay. Instead, it flared once more and faded, leaving him in darkness.

***

He lay unmoving for what felt like hours; his entire body ached, especially his arse and the side of his face that'd been slammed into the floor. He felt as if a bucket of filth had been spilled over him. Only when his teeth started to chatter loudly enough to hurt did he force himself to painfully crawl to his knees.

He was alone, and the Room of Requirement had changed beyond recognition. The ruined hall was replaced by a plain, chilly room with unremarkable wooden furniture and a faded green carpet. Scorpius's wand lay on the table at a precise angle.

He crawled towards it, whimpering softly at the pain that shot through him with every move. It took a few minutes before he managed to grab the corner of the table and haul himself upright, and then he let out a cry because straightening up felt as if a spear was being rammed into him. He grabbed the wand as if to never let it go again, and pulled the torn robe tightly around himself, hood up.

How he managed the stairs and corridors down to the Prefects' bathroom, he never found out. Only when the door slammed behind him, and he'd fortified it with two locking charms did he return to some sort of self-awareness. He collapsed next to the rectangular marble pool and hit various taps at random.

The sound of running water elicited a sleepy snort from the painted mermaid in the portrait that dominated the room. She raised her head, eyes heavy-lidded with sleep when Scorpius's hex tumbled the frame off the wall. He ignored her muffled protests as she came to lie canvas-down on the floor.

He peeled the robe off his body and slid into the scalding water, almost relishing the pain. It stopped his trembling, although the burn on the abused flesh between his legs made him howl. Clinging weakly to one of the golden rings at the rim of the pool, he let himself sink under, immersed entirely until the hot water filled his ears with a hum that drowned out anything else. Only when the lack of air tried to burst his lungs did he resurface, almost grudgingly, water streaming over his hair and face and the stinging cuts there. Even then, he stayed in the tub, never letting go of the ring until his skin felt heavy and soggy and started to shrivel.

Crawling out was still painful, but the water had soothed the initial agony, and Scorpius collapsed on a pile of fluffy white towels as exhaustion caught up with him. Dragging a few over himself, he sank into an exhausted doze, never quite falling asleep entirely. Twice, someone hammered against the locked door, and both times Scorpius nearly jumped out of his skin, picturing Albus breaking through the door despite the locking charms. Apart from frustrated mutterings in the corridor, however, he wasn't disturbed.

The outline of the sun against the cotton drapes had wandered quite a bit from east to west, and the faint clattering of plates and cutlery announced lunchtime in the Great Hall when Scorpius forced himself to crawl out of his tangle of towels and face the facts.

If there was one thing he couldn't do, it was trying to put the night behind him and let Albus get away with it. He'd spend his nights gibbering in terror behind his bed curtains, waiting for the thing which controlled Albus's body and half his mind to find him and bind and force him again. He couldn't exist with that sort of fear hanging over him.

As if picking old scabs, Scorpius repeated Albus's words in his mind. 'Should've embraced the Mark, not tried to weasel out of your duty.'

Draco Malfoy had never told his son his side of the story of the war, but Scorpius had heard enough; rumours, old Daily Prophet cuttings from the Death Eater trials, the stories swapped among Gryffindors with barely suppressed glee.

How Draco had failed to murder Dumbledore, how he'd been singled out by the Dark Lord for punishment, marked for death, his closest associates turning against him. Crabbe and Goyle at the forefront, cheerfully throwing in their lot with the Death Eaters that occupied Hogwarts. Crabbe and Goyle, their names only ever used in tandem, as if neither had a life of his own. And then the Room of Requirement, where death broke that pattern for good.

Scorpius forced himself to stand despite the pain, and reached for his robe. A shaky _"Reparo!"_ mended the worst of the tear that ran down its entire front. With gritted teeth, he dispelled the locking charms and left the bathroom.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend, which meant that the hallways and the Slytherin dungeons were blissfully empty. Even the few stragglers and detention victims didn't try and waylay a Prefect who seemed preoccupied with his own business. Nevertheless, Scorpius started to tremble as soon as he entered the corridor to the fifth year dorm; it took a minute before he'd worked up the courage to open the door. If Albus was there...

He wasn't. The dorm was empty, the curtains of Albus's bed bound neatly back to reveal pristine bedclothes.

Scorpius grabbed a random change of clothes, a spare robe and his travelling cloak with its wide, soft hood. Dressed, he felt a little better, although the mirror over his nightstand let out a shocked whistle when he looked in. He'd bathed his bloody lip and cleaned the cuts in the Prefects' bathroom, but his mouth was still swollen and the scar on his temple stood out in a fresh, jagged red line.

Shrugging, he returned to his trunk and pulled out the Portkey, an embroidered silk handkerchief in Malfoy black and silver, designed to take him home and back. He'd used it once or twice to attend gatherings his father wanted him present for. Scorpius had never bothered to find out if it was forbidden or not. There were rules that didn't apply to Slytherins.

A glimpse at the old grandfather clock in the dorm showed that it was already mid-afternoon. Scorpius made his way out to the courtyard, trying very hard not to walk as if his underpants were strewn with eggshells. He still hurt, but the ache was becoming more tolerable with time. Adrenaline and fury did the rest.

Face hidden inside the hood of his cloak, he nodded at Filch who manned the gate and ticked off the names of students leaving while one of the Norris brothers batted at a half-rotten fish head next to his boots.

Scorpius left the castle, crossed the drawbridge, and stepped into the shadow of the castle wall. When he was certain that he wasn't being observed, he pulled out the handkerchief and whispered "Malfoy Manor!" against the lace.

***

The Portkey deposited him in front of the pillar-framed steps of Malfoy Manor with a final tug at his intestines. Scorpius stumbled as the dull ache in his lower body returned, but managed to gain his balance without falling. A profound wave of homesickness rolled over him at the familiar sight of the manor. It would be so easy to go in, to unburden himself to his parents, to ask _them_ to take care of things.

He shuddered at the memory of 'Albus's' nasty jibe about hiding behind his father, willing his stomach not to turn. If he told Father, Albus would pay the full price for his crime, possessed or not, mitigating circumstances or not. There were few certainties pertaining to the Malfoy heritage, but this was one: whoever laid hands on one of them died. Even if father could be persuaded, grandfather would not. And no matter how much Scorpius wanted to be avenged, he did not want to be responsible for Albus being abducted and tortured to death for a few weeks. No, what Albus had done called for a specific form of vengeance.

Aching inside, he turned away and followed the main path away from the house, then turned past the peacock enclosure and towards the woods. The wind that blew down from Salisbury Plain tugged at him as soon as he stepped outside the manor's weather control charms. It crisp bite shocked him fully alert.

The wind eased when he reached the trees - not the jungle-like chaos of the Forbidden Forest, but a small, well-maintained wood that had been Malfoy land for centuries. Scorpius followed the comfortable path over the brook, and down towards the gamekeeper's lodge. Thatched, white-washed and with red-painted door and shutters, it differed considerably from the hut Professor Hagrid had inhabited before his marriage to Headmistress Maxime, which was now used as a Care of Magical Creatures supply shed.

Scorpius hoped that Gregory Goyle was at home although it was a Saturday afternoon and there was a wizarding pub down in Stoke-upon-Stone. Behind the lodge, the gamekeeper's Thestral padlock looked empty, although empty or occupied would look the same in Scorpius's eyes.

Holding his breath, he knocked on the door. He jumped when it opened abruptly, revealing the gamekeeper's hulky figure and his wand, pointed straight at Scorpius's face. It lowered as soon as recognition touched Goyle's rough features.

"Master Scorpius?" Goyle took a step aside to let Scorpius enter. "Shouldn't you be at school?"

A roaring fire blazed in the fireplace; above it hung Goyle's tea kettle, puffing steam from the spout. Two dead rabbits lay on the solid wooden table in a tangle of fur. Goyle pulled up a chair with his boot, but abruptly grabbed Scorpius's shoulder before he could sit down and pulled him closer to the fire. Scorpius went so rigid in his grip that Goyle released him at once.

"What _happened_ to you, boy?" he rasped, peering at Scorpius's bruised face. "Got into a scrape at school? Want me to teach a lesson whoever beat you?" He cracked his knuckles cheerfully. "I can do that."

"No!"

Scorpius's outcry took Goyle visibly aback. He fought to get his expression and voice under control, and most likely failed because Goyle gave the chair another shove in his direction. Very carefully, Scorpius settled down on one arse cheek, trying not to reveal the pain that shot through him at the contact with the hard wooden seat. Thankfully, Goyle busied himself with the tea kettle, filling a large mug and adding liberal doses of milk and brown sugar. He pushed the mug at Scorpius, who closed both hands around it as if it were a good luck charm.

He sipped, and the strong, sweet brew filled an emptiness in his stomach he hadn't been aware of. Scorpius stopped shivering, and looked up.

"I need you to tell me something," he said at last, after two more sips of tea. "About something that happened in the war, during the Battle of Hogwarts."

A faraway look stole over the gamekeeper's ugly face. "Ah, boy, that was a long time ago. Not something I much like to remember."

"About the Room of Requirement," Scorpius continued softly. "And Fiendfyre."

Goyle's face went grey, and for the first time, Scorpius consciously realised what the war had done to him. His father had been one of the captured Death Eaters sentenced to life in Azkaban, and Goyle himself had been hiding on Malfoy land all his life - all alone, never married, never had any children. In a way, it was as if part of him had died alongside Crabbe in the Room of Requirement.

"How d'you know about that?" Goyle's voice sounded more defeated than angry. "Didn't expect your father to go and blab about that sort of thing."

"He didn't," Scorpius cut in, quick to defend Malfoy honour. "But Albus Potter found the Room, and something inside..." He paused, unsure how to put it. "Something took him over, and burned down half the Restricted Section and, well... really didn't take it well when I found out about it."

" _Potter_ did that to you?" Goyle roared, slamming his fist on the table so that a puddle of tea slopped over the rim of Scorpius's mug. "That does it, boy! We'll go and see your father and he'll sort the little bastard out!"

"No!" Scorpius grabbed the sleeve of the groundskeeper's leather vest, but Goyle was already on his feet and making for the door. It was like trying to hold back a stampeding Erumpent.

The bolt clanked shut at the inside of the door in the first burst of wandless magic Scorpius had done since floating his stuffed Pegasus out of the window at the age of five. "Please, listen!" he cried, stumbling to his feet. "It's not Albus. It's Crabbe."

Goyle froze in mid-stride. He turned, slowly as if he couldn't quite believe his ears, and stared at Scorpius as if he'd sprouted several more heads.

Scorpius could feel apprehension well up inside him. The look on Goyle's face reminded him that he was dealing with a former Death Eater, and a volatile one at that.

"Vince _died_ over 20 years ago, boy!" he rasped.

"I know that!" Scorpius yelled back, hating the sob that echoed in his voice. "But the thing that rode Albus... He accused me of not wanting the Dark Mark, of letting you down. He wasn't talking to _me_ ," he said weakly. "He never even _saw_ me. He was talking to my _father_."

"Vince cast Fiendfyre. He _died_ there!" Goyle repeated as if nothing else managed to penetrate his skull.

Scorpius let his hand fall open in defeat. "Who taught him that spell, anyway?"

He didn't expect an answer, but Goyle let out a sharp bark of laughter. "That mad bitch, Lestrange. Taught us all sorts of wild things. Said she'd make us into the Dark Lord's elite. Vince was... rather sweet on her."

Scorpius flinched. "You mean you can cast it too?"

"Yeah." Goyle shrugged. "'s not the sort of thing you forget. Wouldn't ever do it, though - not after seeing what it does."

"She didn't teach you the counter-spell?" Scorpius asked.

Goyle snorted. "She forgot to mention that there was a counter-spell. Utterly insane." He picked up one of the rabbits, then dropped it again. "It's not possible, boy. No spell can survive that long, not like that when there's nothing left to burn."

Nothing except Crabbe, Scorpius thought, swallowing hard against the bile that collected in his stomach. "An out-of-control summoning, a Horcrux being destroyed there, and the ghost of a boy who died feeling betrayed by everybody..." He raised his head, struggling to find the right words. "He's hurt, and angry, and I don't even think he knows he's dead."

Scorpius chanced a glance at Goyle's face, and had to look away from the raw pain he saw reflected there.

"What d'you want from me, then?" the man asked, even though Scorpius knew he'd figured it out already.

"You were his best friend," he said tiredly. "His brother, almost. I think you can make him let Albus go. Set _him_ free too, if he'll let you."

Goyle nodded slowly. "Yes, I thought so. He fucked you over pretty bad, didn't he?"

Scorpius flinched as if under a whiplash at the words. Goyle's eyes widened in shock when he realised the raw nerves his comment had touched. He took a step towards Scorpius, then stopped.

Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, Scorpius dug nails into his palms until pain overcame the tremors that threatened to shake him.

"Yes," he ground out. "Will you help?"

"Yeah," said Goyle, simply. He took out his wand and doused the fire in the crate, reaching for the floor-length hooded leather cloak on a hook by the door. "Guess that makes me mad as a hatter and your father will skin me alive if he finds out, but I'll help."

He held the door open, and Scorpius went carefully, halfway expecting being hit over the head and carried to the manor.

The corner of Goyle's mouth quirked as if he'd figured out just what Scorpius was thinking. His big hand came down heavy on Scorpius shoulder.

"Look, Malfoy... Scorpius," Goyle's voice cracked a little. "Vince... he didn't hate your father. Not really. He just wanted..."

More. Scorpius nodded, a jerky motion that shut Goyle up as intended. To be treated less like a goon, and more like a friend. The Malfoy curse. Even before fourth year, when Scorpius had started to avoid Albus Severus for very different reasons, he'd tried his best to seem casual, distant. Never admitting that friendship was important, even when it was. As if it was a weakness waiting to be exploited. Perhaps, if he'd been less reticent with Albus...

No! He caught his train of thought and stopped it firmly. He was _not_ going to take the blame for what had been done to him!

He pulled the Portkey from his pocket and held out his hand. This time, he barely shivered when Goyle's large fingers wrapped around his own. It was... almost reassuring.

"Hogwarts," he whispered against the silky fabric of the handkerchief, and let it carry them away.

***

As famous precedents during the last Triwizard Tournament had established, Hogwarts had no defences against the use of Portkeys on its grounds, or in its walls. Scorpius's was keyed to one of the small studies at the very bottom of the Slytherin dungeons, the ones intended for NEWT study but where a Prefect's presence wouldn't come as a surprise. Goyle's bulk filled it almost in its entirety. The man looked out of place, large and dressed for outdoors with his wand slung in a sheath over his shoulder.

He looked around almost wistfully, and Scorpius recalled that he'd never set foot in the castle again after the Battle. It must feel strange, to be back.

"How are we going to find the Room of Hidden Things?" Goyle growled into his ear. "Pure luck last time – we spent weeks looking for the DA before that."

Scorpius drew his wand with a thin, cold smile. "Blood Magic," he said.

A flick, and the tip of his birch wand sharpened into a point. He pricked his index finger, not even wincing at the sting. Dark drops of blood welled up, coating the light wood. He murmured the spell's syllables while Goyle looked on with a frown.

"It calls blood to blood – a tracking spell. Grandfather taught me. I shed enough blood in the Room last night to find it now."

Truth was, he didn't want to find the Room as much as call it to him. Gregory Goyle wasn't exactly an inconspicuous figure to go wandering the castle with.

Goyle's hand came down on his shoulder before he could push down the door handle. "You're a good kid, Scorpius," he said. "So's your father, of course – he did right by me after the war, more than he had to, even. But you... you're a good kid – like a Gryffindor."

Scorpius felt his cheeks flame over. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of his Sorting ordeal, listening to Hat singing the praise of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff while Scorpius was pleading 'please, Slytherin' over and over again in his head until the Hat finally shut up and Sorted him with a frustrated huff.

"I'm not good," he protested, shaking off Goyle's hand. "This just needs doing."

He stuck his head out the door into the deserted corridor. A few green lamps created a dim light. He flicked his wand again. On the tip, his blood glowed, pulling towards the opposite wall. Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he laid his palm against the wood-panelled wall.

'Open.'

Under his hand, the door to the Room of Requirement formed as he had known it would.

"You think they'll come?" Goyle rumbled behind him. Scorpius looked over his shoulder. There was apprehension on the former Death Eater's face, the same he could feel prickling between his own shoulder blades.

"Yes," he said, recalling Albus's 'final warning', the callous way he'd considered killing Scorpius while kneeling above him. "They'll come."

He pushed the door open with an eerie feeling of deja vu, watching the plain room he'd left not a day ago shift and expand into a twin vision of the destroyed cavern when Goyle stepped up behind him.

"Wait here," Scorpius whispered.

Without protesting, Goyle slipped into the shadows by the door.

Scorpius rose to his full height and pushed his hood back to bare his face before taking several long steps forward until he reached a spot where the shelving had burned away almost entirely, leaving a barren clearing of sorts.

One hand clenched around his wand, he called into the darkness.

"Albus. I'm here."

This time, he didn't look around him nervously, just stared ahead until he felt the familiar oppressive sense of menace closing around him. Then he turned, unflinching, to find Albus at his back.

Dread crawled through Scorpius's gut, but he knew that no trace of it appeared on his face. He inclined his head a fraction.

Albus looked just like he had before, as if violating his best friend hadn't left any scars at all – sinister, confident, with a deadly glow in his eyes.

"You've come back to die, Malfoy?" he asked. "You should have let me kill you earlier, then, and saved yourself a lot of pain." The elegant curve of his mouth twisted into something a lot less beautiful. "Or were you so desperate to have me?"

Scorpius wasn't going to grace that with a response, and Albus didn't seem to expect one. Instead, he raised his hand. A familiar cluster of sparks started to whirl around his fingers. "It's a pity, almost," Albus mused as the fireball took shape, a twin of the one that had nearly fried Adam Bulstrode. "I'd hoped I might get another chance at that sweet body of yours."

He took aim, the glowing fireball highlighting the green of his eyes.

Scorpius let out a soft, contemptuous snort. "I know who you are," he stated, staring straight into Albus's face and trying to look beyond. "Vincent Crabbe, junior Death Eater – a bloody fool who messed around with magic way beyond his control just to look tough."

An ugly grimace flitted across Albus's features, but his hand with the fireball never wavered. "Yes, the boy thought you'd find out sooner or later," he said. "But I'm quite a bit more than that, now. Will you rest easier knowing, Malfoy?"

Scorpius didn't reply. He heard the light scrape of footsteps behind him. Albus, focused entirely on him, did not.

"Vince? Is that you?"

Scorpius saw Albus's body jerk and turn, a wooden movement that was utterly at odds with his usual grace. He stared at Goyle, who'd stepped out from the shadows and loomed a few feet behind Scorpius. Swallowed, as if he was struggling for words.

"Greg?" he rasped. He took a step forward, shock, pain and disbelief warring on his face. "What... what happened to you?"

Goyle took one, two tentative steps, towering over Albus and yet seeming dwarfed in comparison. His mouth moved, but formed no words.

Albus clenched his fists, Scorpius all but forgotten. "You left me here, Greg! Why did you leave me?"

Suddenly, it felt much warmer even than before. Goyle licked his dry lips. "You died, Vince."

"No." Protest, instinctive, automatic. Shaking his head, Albus stepped back.

"You died," Goyle repeated doggedly. "I was there. I saw you conjure the Fiendfyre, and it burned you to death. Malfoy and I, we got out. You didn't."

"But I'm alive," Albus protested. There was a touch of desperation creeping into his voice, however.

"The Potter boy's alive," said Goyle. "And the bloody fire. Not you, Vince." His voice cracked. "I think you should let him go."

"He came to me!" Albus sounded almost petulant. "Didn't even fight us all that much, not even for little Malfoy." A malicious leer twisted his delicate features and half-hidden behind Goyle's leather-clad body, Scorpius shivered despite the heat.

"Maybe." Goyle shrugged, as if he'd altogether forgotten about the boy he was talking to, and only saw his former friend. "But you can't keep him. Those two children... they're ours. Slytherins. Not Potter and Malfoy - just children."

Albus's face scrunched up. "I don't want to go back! It's..."

"I know." Goyle's voice was astonishingly gentle for such a large man. "You won't have to. But we've got to get those two out of here first."

"He won't like it," Albus said in a small voice.

Goyle touched his face, and Scorpius had to look to the ground to escape the intensity of the look they shared. "No, he won't."

It happened so fast that Scorpius had no time to prepare. Neither had Albus. Albus's body jerked; he clutched his face where Goyle had touched him, then stumbled back and crashed to his knees. Goyle too staggered, pressing both hands against his chest. An unfamiliar expression remodelled his face, alien and yet... not. Slowly, his large fists began to glow.

Albus hugged his chest with both arms, trembling violently. When he lifted his head to look at Scorpius, all Scorpius could see was black, unfathomable horror.

Scorpius took a tentative step towards him when Goyle looked up and caught his eye.

"Go," he said quietly. The glow around his hands had intensified, and slowly spread up his arms. Goyle's bristly jaw clenched, and the muscles in his arms stood out below the sleeveless leather vest.

As careful as if moving to gentle a wild creature, Scorpius reached out for Albus, but the other boy recoiled, burying his face in his hands.

A hiss, and a crackle. Scorpius looked up in horror to see flames bursting from Goyle's hands. Not dancing sparks but true, consuming fire, and a matching ring of flames rose up from the ground to ignite the hem of his cloak.

"Go!" Goyle yelled again while sparks crackled around his bulky form. Flames licked at his clothes, his hair. A fiery spiral in all shades from white-blue to the darkest red started to swirl around him, a burning serpent encircling its prey before rising up to the ceiling, seeking for more. For a moment, Scorpius could still make out Goyle's shape, head bowed and arms clutching his chest as if he was holding something he wouldn't let go, even in death. Then he was gone, consumed by a howling inferno.

A gush of scorching air whipped over Scorpius face, draining away every bit of moisture in his mouth and whatever wetness there might have been in his eyes. He turned to Albus, still kneeling motionless on the ground like a self-dedicated sacrifice, and was beside him in an instant, turning his back on the fire snake that consumed Gregory Goyle and whatever was left of Vincent Crabbe. He grabbed Albus's thin wrist and pulled, dragging him to his feet.

Albus's stumbled against him, but the gush of fire at his back didn't allow Scorpius to pause. Tightening his grip, he started to run, willing Albus to keep up with him. His lungs burned. After a few steps, Albus seemed to regain his footing, keeping up with Scorpius's pace by a sheer miracle alone. 'We should have brooms for this', Scorpius thought, overcome by the wild impulse to laugh into the flaring heat.

There was the wall, right before him, and the door a few paces further down. He veered to the left, dragging Albus after him. Grabbing the door handle with his free hand, he tore it open and propelled Albus through with so much force that he skidded several feet into the corridor. Hand still on the handle, Scorpius caught an eyeful of fire serpent, a roaring, towering mass that took up the entire breadth of the hall, surging towards him. He felt his eyebrows blister and fell back, eyes squeezed shut against the brightness, and threw himself into the corridor, slamming the door shut behind him with all his might.

Stumbling backwards, dreading the sight of the fire serpent smashing the door and the wall and burning them both, he watched the door fade into the wall until plain stone merged where it had been. The impact never came. The roar of fire was shut off in an instant of ringing silence that was more painful on the ear than the noise had been.

Scorpius looked around. A few feet behind him, Albus had collapsed on the ground, his breaths loud and laboured as he tried to pull air into his singed lungs.

They were no longer in the dungeons. Wood-panelled walls had given way to plain stone and huge, arched windows that looked out into the night sky. Jagged streaks of moonlight peered through a jumble of clouds, spilling frosty light on the window seats and the turrets and crenellations of the castle outside.

Scorpius dragged himself to the stone window seat and collapsed on it. After a few moments, he pulled his feet up and hugged his knees tightly, staring out at the roofs of the castle bathed in silver.

It took a long time before he heard Albus's footsteps. He didn't quite come up to where Scorpius sat, but slid down to the floor against the wall at Scorpius's back.

"'I'm sorry' isn't going to help, is it?" Albus finally broke the silence.

Scorpius felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "Not really, no."

After another long moment of silence, Albus asked, "What's going to happen now?"

Scorpius watched the moonbeams paint spikes of light on the windowsill at his feet. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all. There's nothing left. The Fiendfyre, Crabbe... they're all gone, aren't they?" It was a statement, not a question. The Fiendfyre required a human mind to cling to. Devouring its host, it had destroyed itself.

"Yes," Albus answered. "But Goyle..."

"Has been a loner," Scorpius said, digging nails into his palms again to fight back tears. "Nobody will come looking for him. Nobody knew he was here."

"He should be remembered," Al said. "He died to save us both. Crabbe too, I think."

"He will be," Scorpius promised. "We'll remember him. Always."

"Don't!" Albus protested. "Don't try and keep it secret because of me. You've been hurt. You should talk about it to feel better. It works for Muggles."

"Talking isn't going to make it better," Scorpius said as gentle as he could. He couldn't imagine anything that would.

He rested his head against the wall, eyes half shut, probing the bottomless exhaustion that tugged at him with detached interest. Albus didn't move, and if it wasn't for the soft sounds of his breathing, he might not have been there at all. He wouldn't leave, though. He was waiting.

"You said you knew I wanted you," Scorpius finally broke the silence. Blunt, because it had to be asked. "Was that true."

"Yes." Albus's voice sounded muffled. "I didn't know how I felt about it. I wasn't ready. Mostly, I didn't want things between us to change, so I did nothing." He let out a noise that might have been a very bitter laugh. "Well, we saw how well _that_ turned out."

It had been a safe bet, too. Giving Albus time to search his feelings, and afterwards, should he decide he wanted Scorpius, Scorpius would still be there, waiting.

"You did want it after all, though, didn't you," Scorpius said. "It wasn't just Crabbe. It was part of you, too."

When Albus's voice drifted up to him, Scorpius almost didn't need to hear it.

"Yes."

Scorpius nodded silently. He had known that, of course. Known it from the start. At one point, not too long ago, it would have been all he'd ever wished for.

"There is no going back to what we were before, is there?" Albus asked, and this time, Scorpius smiled. He slid off the window seat, eyes still directed outside and full of clouds, towers and moonlight. There was an icy, solitary peace there.

"No," he replied softly. "There isn't."

  
 _~ finis ~_

___________________________________________

  
Time will not heal a dead boy's scars,  
Time will kill.

( _For the Heart I Once Had_ , Nightwish)

**Author's Note:**

> Written in December 2008.


End file.
